Calling His Name
by AzureViatrix
Summary: When met with Will's lifeless body, Alicia struggles to comprehend what it means as she remembers all the times she's said his name before. Alicia's POV. Oneshot.


_Author's note:_

_This is a sad one. I needed to voice my grief and incredulity and this happened. I wrote it late at night, in a bout of insomnia, so I apologize if it's a little rambling. However, it's supposed to be disjointed and repetitive as it reflects Alicia's thoughts when faced with the harsh reality of Will's death._

* * *

'Will.'

She has said his name a hundred times over the course of a lifetime. No, a thousand times. No, a hundred thousand times. A million, maybe.

'Will.'

She has called it in packed classrooms, in libraries, in pubs and in cafés, in parks, in benches, in bleachers and in couches. In their dorm, in the street, in the cold, and in the heat, in the rain, and in the snow.

In his office, in her office, in her old one and her new one. In the courtroom, in the judge's chambers, in hallways, in elevators. In cars, in planes, in opulent galas, in dingy diners. In her apartment, in his apartment, in hotel rooms and balconies. In D.C., in Chicago and in New York. In the middle of nowhere.

She has uttered it through her twenties, through her thirties. Even when she didn't see him. His name always felt familiar on her lips, even when she went a long time without saying it. She has uttered it through her forties, through these past five years, more times than she could care to count.

In happiness, in sadness, in pain and in frustration. In fear, in doubt, in hope. In desperation, in annoyance, in mock, in laughter, in tears, in anxiousness. In love.

She has whispered it, shouted it, screamed it, called it, moaned it, cried it, loved it. His name always has a way of rolling off her tongue, of being repeated over and over again without ever sounding foreign. She has always loved his name, as an extension of him and everything he represents.

She called his name on the phone after all those years, after meeting him by chance in an elevator. Two years later, she called it again in another elevator ride, on their way to the Presidential Suite. She called it when she broke up with him, when they fought, when they kissed. She called it accross a crowded conference room, but also on her own with no one to hear it. She called it in bed, under bright white sheets. She called it often, called it loudly. She called it quietly, and sometimes he didn't hear her. She called it faintly, she called it longingly. She always called him by name.

'Will.'

She keeps calling him now.

'Will.'

She keeps calling, keeps calling and she doesn't know how long it's been.

'Will, please.'

He isn't listening. She has never called him with such urgency, surely he should hear her, he should answer.

'Will.'

He isn't paying attention. But she'll keep saying it, keep saying it until he does something. She can't stop saying it. She feels the tears streaming down her cheeks, warm against the coldness of her skin. He is cold too. She is holding his hand and his hand is cold.

'Will.'

He must be ignoring her. Yes, that must be it, because it's impossible that he hasn't heard her. He must be angry, she must have done something. But, if she keeps calling him, he'll get tired and acknowledge her.

'Will.'

She squeezes his hand, calls louder this time, trying to elicit some kind of response, _any_ kind of response. But he's just lying there, he's lying there and his shirt is torn. His shirt is torn, and his chest is exposed. And his chest is torn as well.

'Will, please.' She cries.

The tears are blurring her eyes so she lifts one hand, still holding his in the other one, to wipe them away.

She wipes them away and he's still lying there and he hasn't moved. Hasn't moved an inch. She's pleading, begging, but he doesn't _do_ anything.

'Please.'

His eyes are closed. He could be sleeping, he's always been a sound sleeper. But she wants him to wake up now, it's the middle of the day Will, this is no time for a nap. She just wants him to wake up.

'Will.'

She needs him to hear her, because there's so many things she never got to tell him, never had the chance, never had the timing. But she wants to say them all, to blurt them all out, that she's sorry, that she loves him, that she never wanted to hurt him or use him, that she was a fool to break up with him. That she'll never forgive herself.

'Will.'

She needs him to listen to all those things, because he needs to know, and she always thought she'd tell him, eventually, and now she wants to tell him but he's not listening, he's not listening, he's not _moving_.

Her vision is blurry again. She can't make out his features anymore but she sees red, and he's always loved that color on her. He always loved her in red, but today she's not wearing that color, so why is it everywhere?

'Will.'

She won't stop calling him. He's bound to answer her, he's bound to wake up. Any moment now, he'll wake up and smile and ask what's with all this red, I always loved you in red. Any minute now.

'Will.'

He's always loved to mess with her, so this must be a joke. He's just lying there, ignoring her, when surely he must have heard her so he's probably just kidding, and he's gonna stand up any minute now and wonder about the red, because she's not wearing red and it's everywhere. _It's everywhere. _

'Will, c'mon.'

He is taking this too far. It's not funny Will, stop it. Just stop it.

She squeezes his hand, and his hand is cold, and his chest must be cold too, because his shirt is torn and it's red on one side but white on the other one, and it doesn't make any sense. It doesn't make any sense at all.

And she tries to focus on his face, she has always loved his face and there's a streak of red on his forehead. Why is there a streak of red on his forehead? But he looks so pale, it must be the lighting, the cold fluorescent lighting that's making his face look so pale. And his hand in hers is pale too, compared to hers, and that doesn't make sense either because her skin is fairer than his.

'Will.'

She doesn't know how long she's been calling him. His face is unmoving, and his chest is torn and she remembers how it used to rise and fall slowly when he slept by her side, not so long ago, she remembers clearly. But he's not moving now and she wants him to move, wants him to wake up, wants him to say something.

'Will.'

And there's red on his neck too, and she loved to kiss his neck, knew every inch of skin. She knew every inch of skin, and there never used to be a hole on that side of his neck. It shouldn't be there.

'Will.'

And there's red everywhere and a part of her knows, but she doesn't want to know, because it hurts and his lips look so pale, so bloodless, and it's his blood that's everywhere, and she'll never kiss those lips anymore.

And he'll never hear her. He'll never move. He'll never wake.

He just lies still, and his chest is not moving, not rising and falling like it should and that must mean he's not breathing, why is he not breathing? Maybe it has to do with the hole in his neck.

'Will.' She draws out the word, painfully, praying to a God she doesn't think exists for an answer she knows will never come.

And she knows, she knows because they've told her, because they phoned her and asked her to come and left her alone with him. Because they lifted a sheet so that she could see him. But she doesn't want to know.

'Please.' She begs. 'Please, please, please, Will.'

But he isn't listening. Maybe he can't hear her. She has said his name a thousand times over the course of a lifetime, but now he can't hear her. He can't hear her because the hole is a bullet wound, and his blood is everywhere, and they tried to save him, she knows they tried, because his shirt is torn and everything, but his chest isn't rising anymore, and that must mean he's not breathing, and that must mean that he's gone.

Because he would never ignore her for so long, and he always woke when she called his name and he would never torture her with a joke so cruel.

'Will.'

She keeps calling his name, she keeps calling him, just like she has called him over the course of _his_ lifetime. And she will keep calling, even if his life is extinguished, and his skin is pale, and his chest is still and his blood is everywhere. She knows she will keep calling him long after they take him away from her, long after he's gone.

She knows she'll keep calling him.

Just as she knows he can't hear her; he will never hear her, anymore.

_'Will.'_

* * *

_Author's note:_

_Sorry, I did warn you it was sad. :(_

_This is my second fic (the first one was much happier because 5x15 hadn't happened yet), so any feedback and comments will be very much appreciated. _

_Hugs to you all (we need them, specially those watching 5x16 tonight)._


End file.
